


Soft Words and Kind Hearts

by Llama1412



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Geralt Fluff Week, Literal Sleeping Together, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: A collection of fills for Geralt Fluff Week 2020.Day 1: First times - Geralt gets a tattoo and becomes part of the Blue Stripes Commandos
Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt & The Blue Stripes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Iorveth, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vernon Roche, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Iorveth/Vernon Roche, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43
Collections: Geralt Fluff Week 2020





	1. Day 1: First Times

**Author's Note:**

> For those who aren't familiar, if you take Roche's path in Witcher 2, you can, in fact, get a big tattoo of a naked lady on your neck. It's great. Check out a video of it [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IOyMAb1PhM)

There had been a lot of firsts in Geralt’s life. His first friend, for example, had been the druid Mousesack, when they’d met as children. His first more-than-friend had been Eskel, the witcher who had been through all the same agony as he had and who had reminded him to find levity in the moments in between.

Jaskier had been his first ever traveling companion, and Geralt found that he actually quite liked having company. It made the time pass faster and having assistance patching himself up after a rough fight was quite nice. It made him feel more...well, more human, more worthy of being cared for.

Ciri was the first person to ever  _ need _ him, both to protect her, but also to raise her, to love her, to provide her shelter and care and a place to grow up in relative safety. He learned a lot from Ciri – possibly more than she learned from him – but the most important was the reminder that this work did not have to be done  _ alone.  _ It was all right to have friends, to have allies, to rely on people.

He still wasn’t entirely sure how that had led him here, to getting his very first tattoo. Geralt had never thought that might be a first he would have, but here with Vernon Roche’s Blue Stripes Commandos, it made something warm build in his chest that they offered. This was their way of including him in the unit, of making him part of their family and he was beyond honored.

Still, perhaps something less visible than the naked lady on his neck suggested by Thirteen, the Blue Stripes’ resident alcoholic and tattoo artist. Geralt wasn’t at all concerned about  _ that _ combination.

“Maybe the Temerian Lilies?” Roche suggested, hand warm on Geralt’s shoulder. None of the Blue Stripes ever hesitated before touching him the way humans often did, and perhaps that was why Geralt  _ wanted _ to be part of their unit, their family.

_ Witchers are supposed to remain neutral,  _ something in the back of his mind reminded him. But Geralt wasn’t swearing an oath to a king or involving himself in politics. He was just accepting the comradery of good men who had  _ invited _ him into their ranks. Surely even Vesemir would understand that.

And if not, well, at least he wouldn’t have a naked lady very visibly tattooed on his neck.

Ves – the Blue Stripes’ second in command, only woman, and all around terrifying warrior – snapped her fingers. “I got this. Do a Temerian Lily with blue stripes across it. That way it’s obvious he’s one of us.”

Thirteen nodded consideringly, nearly overbalancing when he leaned too far to the side. Geralt was perhaps a  _ little _ bit concerned about his tattoo artist being very visibly drunk, after all.

“That sounds fine,” Geralt said, “but um, are you sure–”

“You’re definitely one of us.” Roche clapped his shoulder. “You should wear our mark. It’s only right.”

“No, it’s not that. I just – should we maybe wait for Thirteen to sober up?”

The entire unit burst into laughter. 

“Oh Geralt,” Ves chuckled, slinging an arm around his shoulder, over Roche’s hand. “We never tattoo sober. Don’t worry – he has very steady hands.”

Geralt looked at Thirteen dubiously, but the markman grinned. “I can’t shoot straight sober. But drunk? I can hit a target between the eyes at thirty paces off.”

“I can hit a hundred,” their best marksman, Finch, mumbled. He seemed to be shaving away curls of wood from the inn table they were seated around, and Geralt decided not to ask.

“If you’re sure…” he agreed, only half concerned that this would be a horrible mistake.

Well, if it was, he was sure one of the sorceresses in his acquaintance could help him remove it. Geralt held out his right wrist and Thirteen pushed it onto the table, holding his arm down. 

“Ready?”

Geralt nodded, bracing himself for the momentary pain. Thirteen’s hands were surprisingly steady, despite the sheer amount of booze he’d consumed, and slowly, the shape of a fleur de lis took form on his skin. Then Thirteen switched inks and started shading in blue stripes diagonally across the stylized lily.

“There,” Roche said when Thirteen leaned back and pressed a bandage over the new ink. “Now you’re truly one of us.”

Geralt looked around the table at the Blue Stripes unit and felt his shoulders relaxing. He was part of the group now, part of the family, and Ves happily passed him another drink.

“Let’s arm wrestle!” She declared and cheers arose from around the table. Geralt took a swig of his drink and grinned.

“What do I get when I win?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to see more with the Blue Stripes? Check out my fic [Pride of Temeria](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25565440/chapters/62039410).  
> Also, come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://bard-llama.tumblr.com) and check out my [Witcher Rare Pair discord.](https://discord.gg/7JGchYj)


	2. Day 2: Kaer Morhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt invites Iorveth _and_ Roche to stay the winter in Kaer Morhen with him. It was maybe not his most thought out plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve now decided that Geralt tells everyone he invites to Kaer Morhen that they have to stay in his room. Because of the cold, of course. That said, this can be read either shippy or just really close friends huddling for temperature control. Because Kaer Morhen puppy piles yo.

When Geralt had invited to diametrically opposed individuals to him with Kaer Morhen, he really should have expected this. This, of course, being the screaming match taking place over his head while he desperately tried to sleep.

“He likes me better,” Iorveth muttered, clearly loud enough for Vernon Roche to hear. Geralt sighed and pulled a pillow over his head.

“Listen here, treefucker,” Roche’s tirade started before Geralt tuned it out.

Vernon Roche and Iorveth were two  _ unique _ individuals who Geralt actually liked quite a lot, but who viewed each other as their worst enemy. 

Of course, they once were direct enemies, fighting on opposite sides of a war for freedom. Both sides thought their version of freedom was the only right way – all nonhumans must be removed for humans to live in peace vs all humans must be removed so the rest of us can live in peace. Geralt tried very, very hard not to take a side, but most humans considered him a nonhuman, so it was rather difficult not to have a stake in things.

He didn’t blame Roche for fighting against the nonhuman Scoia’tael. Geralt understood what motivated Roche, even if he didn’t agree with it. Roche was a lot like Geralt – he didn’t follow an idea, he followed a  _ person. _ That had always been how Geralt had ended up in some political mess – he chose people, and the people he chose happened to like getting into trouble.

Iorveth had been both easy and difficult to choose. He was a hard man on the surface, a man who hurt innocents, which was the one line Geralt tried to stay true to. But Iorveth also fought for freedom, for a world where nonhumans could walk down the street without being attacked.

Geralt desperately wanted to live in that world. He was so  _ tired _ of dealing with the hate and scorn and dislike. It wasn’t as if he’d chosen to become a witcher, but now that he was one, it rather made sense to throw his lot in with the nonhumans. And underneath it all, Iorveth was a loyal man, a man with a sense of honor, even if he would break it to do what needed to be done.

Geralt was very familiar with being forced to choose the lesser evil. Once he’d gotten to know Iorveth, it was easy to see how those choices had forced him to become the man he was.

On the flip side, Roche, professional hunter of nonhumans, had been harder to choose. Part of that had been the circumstances of their meeting – forced to work side by side for King Foltest until they were suddenly working together to find the king’s killer – but part of it was also that Roche was a hard man. He’d seen the worst parts of the world and it had tainted him, showing in the lines of his face and the sharp bark of his orders to the men under his command.

Geralt probably wouldn’t have bothered trying to get to know Roche if it weren’t for Triss. But Triss knew Roche, had served with him at King Foltest’s side for years. And Triss trusted the man, trusted him both to help Geralt hunt down the kingslayer, but also trusted him as a person, as someone she regularly spent time with.

Geralt had been more than slightly surprised. They didn’t exactly seem like they should occupy the same sphere of existence, Triss and Vernon Roche. Where she was all noble sophistication and well-pondered research, he was crass and grating and hopped into situations without thought when it concerned his people. Still, she had told Geralt that Roche was a man worth getting to know and Geralt had taken her advice.

He was so glad he had. Roche was indeed a gruff and uncouth man, but then, so was Geralt. Roche was true to his word when he made a promise and was always careful not to give his word if he didn’t think he could keep it. Geralt honestly appreciated that, appreciated that he could trust Roche at his word, as long as he looked for the right signs.

In truth, he didn’t like  _ either _ of them more than the other. He just liked both of them.

That didn’t mean he didn’t regret inviting them to Kaer Morhen at the same time. They had taken every opportunity to snipe at each other and Geralt was just so  _ tired. _

“Enough!” He growled. Two surprised faces turned to him and Geralt glowered. “I am  _ trying _ to sleep. If you want to keep fighting, go outside. Otherwise, shut up and get in bed.”

“Sorry,” Roche mumbled, shamefaced. Iorveth didn’t say anything, but his look was appropriately apologetic and Geral dearly wanted some sleep, so he was satisfied. Especially when both actually remembered that they were here for  _ him _ and joined him on either side of the bed. 

With Roche’s human warmth huddled up against his back and Iorveth a cool weight in his arms, Geralt was finally able to fall asleep.


	3. Day 3: Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaer Morhen is full and joyous this winter, so it only makes sense to host a celebration for the solstice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s my bday! Which is why it’s fitting that Family is the prompt, because Found Family is my favorite thing ever. So, enjoy Geralt thinking about his family.

The music and cheer washed over Geralt as he leaned against the wall of the dining hall in Kaer Morhen, watching Eskel lead Ciri in an improvised jig as he sipped at his ale. It wasn’t often they had opportunity to celebrate at Kaer Morhen, but this year, the Keep was crowded and warm and overflowing with joy. What had started as a simple winter solstice celebration had turned into a lively evening of drinking and dancing and feasting.

Geralt hid his smile in his ale as Zoltan Chivay, fearsome warrior and Geralt’s favorite dwarf, loudly declared that he would show them how a  _ proper _ jig was done. Jaskier obligingly led the enchanted instruments beside him into a more dwarven jig, with lots of feet stomping. Several people gasped in delight as Zoltan leapt in the air for a flip, but Iorveth, the only elf in attendance, scoffed. 

“Surely you can do better than that?” the former Scoia’tael leader challenged and Geralt suddenly remembered that Zoltan and Iorveth had never gotten along.

Zoltan let out a sharp bark of laughter. “If you’re so cocky, why don’t you demonstrate?”

“Free for all!” Lambert shouted, dragging his Cat School Witcher companion out onto their makeshift dancefloor. “Bet I can jump higher!”

“Like hell!” Aiden laughed and the two began a dance that appeared to be more about jumping and stomping on each other’s feet than moving to the rhythm.

“Why don’t we show them a Skelligen jig, Ciri?” Mousesack held his hand out to her. While the druid had helped raise Ciri in Cintra as a young girl, he was originally from the Skellige Islands and Geralt was vaguely aware that Ciri had visited often as a child.

Ciri grinned widely at Mousesack and took his hand. When the druid lifted her into the air, Geralt noticed that she jumped higher than both Lambert  _ and  _ Aiden, and he chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“Well shit,” he heard Vernon Roche, former Temerian Special Forces Commander, sigh into his drink. “I hate dancing, but we can hardly have a showcase without Temeria represented, can we?”

His former second-in-command Ves chugged her mostly full ale, leaning back and finishing it off with a flourish. “Yeah, all right. But I lead.”

Roche grumbled, but he let Ves drag him into position. When the next leap came, Geralt was impressed that Ves lifted the stocky man easily and he kicked off of her into a half-flip. 

“Huh, never thought they could dance,” Triss said from next to Geralt and then she turned to Yennefer. “We can hardly let mages be outshone here, can we?” 

Yennefer laughed, a high echoing sound that simultaneously made Geralt’s heart melt and the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. But then, adoration and danger were a fairly common combination around the most powerful mage he’d ever met, the woman who had helped him raise Ciri and taught him  _ never _ to cross a sorceress.

She took Triss’s hand and the two of them began to move in what Geralt supposed might be called a dance, though it certainly wasn’t what he would call a jig. Still, it somehow fit with the strange amalgamation of dance styles on the floor.

Eskel clapped Geralt on the shoulder and then made a beeline towards Lambert and Aiden. Geralt wasn’t sure if he was joining their challenge or just intending to get in their way and annoy them, but either way, Geralt couldn’t help laughing at the wild bouncing the three engaged in.

Next to him, the sweetest old vampire he’d ever met cleared his throat. “Might I have this dance, my dear?” Regis asked, a soft smile curling the corners of his mouth. 

Geralt just blinked at the hand Regis offered for a long moment. “I don’t know how to dance,” he finally said.

“Ah, but you do know how to read bodies in combat! Following during a dance is much the same – just follow my queues on when and how to move.”

Geralt hesitated, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned his head to look at Vesemir just as the old Wolf shoved him forward into Regis. 

“Only us old coots get to brood against the wall,” Vesemir said, grinning into his ale as Regis easily caught Geralt and helped him stand upright with a delicate hand on his waist.

Geralt shook his head, turning to Regis with a slight smile. “All right then, show me how it’s done.”

“With pleasure,” Regis bowed his head with all the courtesy of a nobleman, even as the hand on Geralt’s waist dragged him closer until he was pressed against the vampire. “Have you ever waltzed before?”

Geralt blinked. “I thought we were dancing a jig?”

Regis just grinned, guiding Geralt into a swirling series of movement that had them cutting across the dancefloor, spinning to avoid others as needed with surprising elegance. Geralt hadn’t actually known he could move like this and he let his body relax into Regis’s lead.

The banquet hall spun around him, full of the laughs and clatter of his family. Geralt decided that they needed to have more celebrations if they all went like this. Surrounded by warmth and affection and joy, the harsh winter winds blowing outside seemed far away, unable to break through and disturb them. Instead, the party reminded Geralt of exactly why he chose to invite all the people important to him.


	4. Day 4: Cuddling/Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets of Geralt cuddling with his family and friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwynbleidd means White Wolf in Elder Speech

**Iorveth + Roche**

The battle had raged for hours and now, finally, the field began to fall silent. Soon, the daunting task of clearing the battlefield and giving the fallen soldiers proper send offs would begin, but for now, all was quiet. It was as if the whole world was taking a breather, giving Geralt a chance to do likewise.

Geralt pulled himself towards the infirmary camp that had been set up by both sides in the battle and was about to slump against the first free space of wall he could find when he heard a rough voice call him over.

“Gwynbleidd,” said a brash elven voice and Geralt turned to see Iorveth leaning against the adjacent wall. Next to him, clearly half asleep, Vernon Roche sat with his shoulder pressed against Iorveth’s. They both looked battered and bruised, but Geralt was just relieved to see them in one piece.

“Don’t you two hate each other?” He asked, lumbering over to them.

“Mmm,” Iorveth hummed and yawned widely.

“I’ll kill him later,” Roche mumbled from where his head was tucked into his chest. It didn’t look terribly comfortable to Geralt, but the Temerian soldier seemed content.

“Rest with us,” Iorveth held out the arm that wasn’t pressed against Roche in invitation.

Geralt nodded gratefully, and finally getting off of his feet was such a relief that he found himself bodily leaning into Iorveth, well inside the elf’s personal space. Iorveth didn’t seem to mind, though, just wrapped his arm around Geralt and tugged him closer.

Pressed together like that, the three of them rested in a brief moment of peace from war and politics and elves versus humans.

––

**Regis + Detlaff**

It was a beautiful spring day, the sun shining over Corvo Bianco and the rich smell of grapes permeating the air, and Geralt felt lazy. It was a new feeling, indulging in laziness, but Regis had been encouraging him since his semi-retirement to let himself just  _ be. _

It was difficult, sometimes, but right now, sitting on the plushest couch he’d ever encountered with Regis pressed all along his side, head on his shoulder, Geralt felt content.

So of course, that was the moment Dettlaff appeared behind the couch, his head hovering unexpectedly close to Geralt’s.

“Busy?” Dettlaff asked, but didn’t wait for a response before turning to smoke and creeping into the gaps between Geralt and Regis. Then, he reassumed his form, pressed tightly in between the two of them.

Regis laughed. “You could have asked, my dear.”

Geralt just grumbled and shifted back on the couch so that Dettlaff’s elbow could stop digging into his kidney. Then he wrapped his arm around Dettlaff to reach over and stroke Regis’s hair. Dettlaff relaxed into him, and Geralt let his head dip down to rest against the crown of Dettlaff’s head.

Today was a day for rest and laziness, and he intended to make the most of it.

––

**Wolf Witchers + Jaskier**

Winters in Kaer Morhen were bitterly, bitingly cold. They worked hard to maintain the old keep, but the crumbling stone walls did absolutely nothing to keep the winter wind from seeping through.

That was how the sleeping arrangement started. It was far too chilly for any of them to sleep in their rooms, not in the depths of winter. So they’d chosen an inner room with a massive fireplace and set up their cushions and blankets there, where the heat of the fire could keep them warm and toasty.

Geralt explained this to Jaskier as he led the bard into the sleeping room. As a human, Jaskier was the most fragile amongst them, so Geralt offered him the center, where it was warmest.

“So I get to cuddle with all of you big strong witchers all winter, huh? Sounds like paradise,” Jaskier grinned.

“Don’t be so sure,” Vesemir said, covering his mouth for a yawn. “Lambert kicks.”

“Yeah well, Eskel snores,” Lambert retorted, flopping onto the cushions next to Jaskier.

Geralt shook his head and ignored his brothers’ sniping, crawling up on the other side of Jaskier and curling around him. Here in Kaer Morhen, surrounded by his brethren and his bard, Geralt fell asleep feeling safe and warm.

––

**Yennefer + Ciri**

Geralt did not at all panic when Yennefer fell sick. It was just a minor cold, she insisted, but Geralt hadn’t previously known mages  _ could _ get sick, so he felt justified in sitting at her bedside.

Yennefer threw a pillow at him. “Stop looking so worried. You’re going to scare Ciri.”

“Am not,” Geralt mumbled, shifting his gaze from Yennefer to the floor, shoulders still knotted with tension.

Ciri opened the door at that moment and cut off Yennefer’s response. Judging from the scathing look on Yenn’s face, Geralt was probably lucky Ciri had come when she did.

“Are you okay?” Ciri asked.

“I’m fine, little one,” Yenn rolled her eyes. “Geralt is just overreacting.”

Ciri hummed and nodded, but the frown on her face turned more pronounced until it was almost a pout. “Can I sit with you?”

Yennefer sighed but agreed. Geralt expected Ciri to pull up a chair at Yennefer’s bedside like he had, but instead, the child hopped up onto the foot of Yennefer’s bed and crawled up until she lay stretched out beside the mage.

“If you get sick, it’s your own fault.” Yennefer’s token protest was undermined by the way the bed slowly increased in size, until Geralt had room to climb in on the other side of Ciri.

“Then we can do this again!” Ciri said, nuzzling into the space between Geralt and Yennefer.

Geralt stroked her hair, then reached over to smooth Yennefer’s hair down. The mage gave him a dark look, but leaned into his fingers, so he continued to brush through her curls.


End file.
